My hair is probably at least as ruffled as M’s and N’s who are sitting next to me on the beach chairs, staring at the waves. But I don’t care. Normally I would, but this night has opened my eyes, temporarily, to the fact that the wiring in my brain is all jumbled up. A decision needs to be arrived at now. M used to be my girlfriend, but it is with N that I am still in contact. We walked up and down Tel-Aviv this night, and played piano in my parents’ house, and bathed half nude in the sea, and now we’re playing with our food at a café on the beach. The unreasonable sum that the start-up company I work in is paying me brings me nothing but a penchant for psychedelic drugs and fancy restaurants. My psychological make-up is too complicated, I realize – defense mechanisms supplementing and overriding each other in an intricate web that succeeds in maintaining a presentable façade, more or less (a work of art, really).
Within a week I resign, the twin towers in New York crumble to the ground, I get vaccinated and a month later am on a plane.
